


Zing! Went the Strings of My Heart

by afterafternoons



Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: F/M, Heavily Inspired by songs Andrew has sung, I don’t have good tags because I don’t know what I’m doing, Ill fix these tags later, Kevin is oblivious, Kevin’s still in Uganda, Lots of Judy Garland references, M/M, This is a Pining Fic, it’s cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2019-11-21 18:25:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18145802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterafternoons/pseuds/afterafternoons
Summary: When Connor leaves Uganda for New York, he leaves behind Kevin Price, but he brings all of his baggage back to the United States. All of his feelings of unrequited love and endless pining, manifesting into phone calls back to his former Mission Hut. Connor doesn’t know how to move on, but he finds, he’s not terribly inclined to do so.





	1. The Man That Got Away

_ “The night is bitter, _

_ the stars have lost their glitter, _

_ the night grows colder, _

_ suddenly you’re older _

_ and all because of the man who got away. _

_ No more his eager call, _

_ the writing on the wall, _

_ the dreams you dreamed have all _

_ gone astray.” _

* * *

 

At night, New York’s city streets buzz with the neon signs of tattoo parlors and pizzerias and any average person can go their entire day — life even — without noticing that mechanical hum; but sound has always traveled through Connor like an electrical current through a live wire.    
  
New York can be a cacophony of sounds for tourists and newcomers, but with a month and a half under his belt, Connor finds he likes the noise. Nights in New York are louder than nights in Uganda.    
  
Here, taxi cabs whizz past on occupied streets — and in the daytime their honking is ever present and persistent. Siren’s play far off melody’s and businessmen and women hurry past in the throngs of conversation, with hurried deadlines to meet. At night, the streets settle and the tourists turn in. Music flows from the open, garage door bars that occupy city streets and beckon in passerby’s.    
  
That’s when Connor loves New York the most; but it’s also when he feels the loneliest.    
  
It’s times like these when he’s left with a longing for Uganda; preferring the sweaty nights and the unmistakable buzz of unidentifiable insects. And he’d never admit it out loud, but he misses Kevin Price.    
  
New York without Kevin is black and white. Connor walks a lonely road, kicking despondently at pebbles and sad jazz music plays as he rests his head against bus windows. There’s no spring in his step, or smile on his face and the wind picks up around him as the rain starts to fall. It’s pathetic all the wasted opportunities he chooses to dwell on in the city of his dreams.    
  
Chris Thomas tries his hardest to keep Connor’s spirits high when he gets like this, dragging him to dinners and shows. Whatever it takes to keep his mind off of the lost love he never professed.    
  
It’s midnight when Connor and Chris find themselves hanging around outside of James Church’s apartment while he gets dressed and ready for their outing. They stand in silence, Connor doing up the buttons on his jean jacket in hopes that doing so will protect him from the brisk cold.    
  
“Happy Birthday.” Chris grins, fiddling with his watch as he leans back against the railing.    
  
“Is that what this is about?” Connor catches on, turning to face his friend in the dim glow of the dying apartment light. “You took me to dinner and a show and then we walked around for a while so you could butter me up? I told you, Chris, I don’t want to celebrate my birthday.“    
  
“But it’s your 21st birthday, Con.” Chris tries to reason as he taps his fingers against the railing behind him. “We had so much fun last year.”    
  
Connor huffs, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks back out across the vacant street.    
  
Last year, they’d been in Uganda and Kevin had organized the entire thing. Somehow, he’d scrounged together some spending money and taken a trip to Kampala where he’d found a record clean enough to play on the record player that had been lying around the mission hut. It had skipped a lot, but Kevin swore it was the best condition he could find at the flea market and in the grand scheme of things, Connor didn’t care. No one did. And they’d all had a good time anyways, drinking and sharing plates of food that their Ugandan friends had prepared better than any of the Elders could.   
  
That’s when Connor had really fallen for Kevin, but Kevin had always remained oblivious to his flirting so he never ventured farther than just friends. Now, Connor regrets leaving Uganda without confessing his crush. However selfish that is, Connor doesn’t care.    
  
“James is excited.” Chris offers in the silence, slightly disheartened by Connor’s avoidance.    
  
“I’m glad.” Connor snaps, uncooperatively.    
  
“We were thinking we’d check out that new bar that just opened up, now that you’re good and legal to drink like the rest of us.” Chris continues, rubbing his thumb into the railing, playing with the chipped paint while Connor refuses to acknowledge him.    
  
Eventually, he sighs giving into what Connor really wants, “We can try calling Kevin.”   
  
Kevin and Arnold still had a remaining three months to finish out when the rest of District 9 had left, but unfunded and officially abandoned by the Church, they weren’t receiving any new missionaries and had to make do with what they had.    
  
They had planned to preach the Book of Arnold and Connor had left as much information behind as he could, but he still worried a great deal and made it his business to call on a weekly basis. Sometimes Kevin answers, most times, he doesn’t.    
  
“Happy Birthday, Connor.” James greets, oblivious to the tension of the current situation as he catches a quick kiss from Chris.    
  
“We’re calling Kevin.” Chris explains to his boyfriend, both sharing a look as Connor remains silent and stoic across the stairway. Wordlessly, he takes the initiative to start down the sidewalk and Chris and James find themselves scurrying to follow.    
  
Connor isn’t blind to the fact that his friends think calling Kevin is a terrible idea, but are too kind to tell him not to do something that makes him happy. “We’re not calling Kevin.” He decides, calling over his shoulder to Chris and James who breathe a shared sigh of relief.    
  
It only takes a couple drinks for Connor to go back on his word, leaving the colored lights and the pulsing music of the bar to pace the sidewalk out front without supervision.    
  
“Kevin Price.” Kevin answers the landline that’s permanently fixed in Connor’s old office. The phone is older and lacks caller ID, so every call has to be answered, but no one ever knows who’s calling.    
  
“Connor McKinley.” Connor offers his customary greeting. He doesn’t stray too far from the bar, searching for a quiet place to park himself for the duration of the phone call.    
  
There’s shuffling on the other end of the line. “Isn’t it late there?” Kevin asks, “Or early? Arnold and I were going to call you later and wish you a Happy Birthday.”    
  
“Thanks.” Connor replies, digging his shoe into the pavement as he leans against the street light he’s claimed for himself.    
  
“Happy Birthday!” Kevin supplies, because he hadn’t officially said it. “Doing anything fun?”   
  
“Thanks.” Connor repeats, dumbly. “Yeah, Chris and James took me drinking. You? Are you doing anything fun?”   
  
“I’m sick.” Kevin answers, “Heat exhaustion. We’ve been helping with that new playground for the past couple days and I totally ate dirt yesterday, so, that was embarrassing and now I’m holed up for the day to recoup, or whatever, so I don’t pass out again.”   
  
“Are you okay?” Connor frets, prepared to drop everything and fly back to Uganda, if need be. Of course, this plan isn’t entirely feasible, but after a couple drinks, Connor finds, he doesn’t care. He’ll cross every bridge he has to when it comes to Kevin.    
  
“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Kevin replies and there’s more shuffling. “You?”   
  
“Drunk.” Connor sighs, tucking his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he struggles to do up the buttons on his jacket. “And cold. There aren’t nearly as many stars here as there are in Uganda.”   
  
Kevin laughs on the other end of the line and Connor wants to bottle that sound. “I think there’s just more pollution back home.”   
  
“How do the stars look?” Connor asks, absentmindedly.    
  
“Well, the sun rose about an hour ago.” Kevin informs him and there’s more shuffling like he’s looking for a paper or something on the other end of the line. “But they got a new computer over in Kampala and Arnold got his tape recorder back, so if you give me your email address here in a second, maybe we can figure out how to send you a video, yeah?”    
  
“I’d like that.” Connor replies and when Kevin prompts him, he spells out his email.   
  
“It’ll probably take a while and it definitely won’t be edited, but I’ll see what I can do.” Kevin explains and Connor can tell he’s talking around the pen cap he’s holding in his mouth as he writes himself a note. “We don’t head out that way as much as we used to, since it’s only the two of us.”   
  
As usual, Kevin isn’t saying anything particularly intriguing; it’s just mundane things about life in Uganda, but Connor could hang off of his every last word. His hopeless pining is ever present when he’s had something to drink, willing to indulge in feelings he’d suppressed for too long.    
  
Back in Kitguli, Arnold had worked hard to assure Connor that his feelings were normal. He’d written acceptance into his book and he’d preached it to their new Ugandan friends and Connor was grateful for that, but he’d never acted on those feelings.    
  
As an aspiring therapist, Chris had tried to explain to Connor that his apprehensions were normal, especially given his past of various forms of conversion therapies and turning it off every waking second. It was his conditioning, Chris explained, he’d been conditioned to think his sexuality was wrong. It was meant to make Connor feel better, but he’d never worked up the confidence to confess his feelings to Kevin and now it was too late.    
  
“You still there?” Kevin asks on the other end of the phone, on the other side of the world.    
  
“Yeah, sorry.” Connor fumbles, “I was just thinking about how you only have a month and a half left in Uganda.”    
  
Kevin breathes a sigh of relief, like he’s glad he’s not the only one paying attention to this fact and Connor had spent so long studying his movements from afar that it doesn’t take any extra effort to visualize what Kevin’s doing at this very moment.    
  
Connor’s desk, back in Uganda, is short — because Connor is short, but Kevin towers over the both of them and when he sits in Connor’s chair, his knees hit the desk, so Kevin always stands to answer the phone. He’s a busybody, so he fiddles with the pen jar while he talks of flips through the calendar and sometimes, back when Kevin took calls from his family, he would leave little doodles behind on Connor’s sticky notes. When Kevin gets good news, he stretches his arms behind his head like he’s preparing to recline and if he’s tired, sometimes he scratches at his eyebrow with his freehand, waiting for the call to end. When he’s angry or upset, he drives pens into notepads and that’s when Connor would find perfect holes drilled into his sticky notes or the corner of his large desk calendar.    
  
Right now, Connor knows that Kevin’s stretching. “I’m ready to leave.” Kevin confesses, gearing up for a doodle no one will see, “I want to sleep in a bed with a good mattress and I want to get off these meds and I want to stop being afraid.”   
  
Kevin had started taking sleeping pills after his assault and he’d kept everyone at arms distance. He’d been explosive and at times, Connor had loathed him, but everything had changed when Kevin had confided in Connor. They’d forged a friendship, it wasn’t as strong as Kevin and Arnold’s, but it was enough for Connor.    
  
Connor had been terrified to leave Kevin alone. Sure, he had Arnold and Nabulungi, but the General still remained and Connor couldn’t bring himself to truly believe that he could turn himself around just like that. He was afraid for Kevin, but Kevin had promised time and time again that he’d be okay to finish out his makeshift mission.    
  
“Has anything happened?” Connor asks, cautiously. There’s still a nagging thought in the back of his head that needs a reason, any reason, for him to jump ship and go back to Kevin.   
  
“No.” Kevin assures him, “Nothing’s happened, but seeing him is a constant reminder of something I can’t wait to forget. So, I’m just counting down my days. I’ve got, like, 48 days left.”   
  
Connor hears the pen click on the other end of the line. Kevin doesn’t like talking about his situation more than he has to and his anxiety manifests itself into restless fidgeting.    
  
Connor opens his mouth to say something when Chris bursts out of the bar, head swinging back and forth. “Connor, there you are!” He says as if Connor doesn’t know where he is.    
  
“Pop-Tarts?” Kevin guesses.   
  
“Kevin?” Chris guesses.    
  
Connor offers a weak nod to his best friend, “Yes.”    
  
“Look, buddy, I’m gonna let you go.” Kevin excuses himself, “I didn’t mean to take you away from your birthday party and Happy Birthday, again, from me and Arnold and everyone else, okay?”    
  
Connor opens his mouth to protest, but the line’s already gone dead.    
  
“Do you want to talk about it?” Chris asks, unsure of the details of Connor’s conversation. There’s the very real possibility that Connor could have professed his crush there on the spot and made everything awkward, but he hadn’t. Not yet, at least. He was drunk, but not that drunk.    
  
“They got a new computer in Kampala.” Connor shrugs, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know what Chris wants, because the fact that he didn’t profess his crush means the conversation was boring, but Connor had loved every second of it.    
  
“That’s good.” James says, materializing next to Chris — or maybe he’d always been there. Wherever Chris went, James usually followed, but Connor always noticed him as an afterthought — as a shadow and he never did it to be rude, but maybe he was just building walls for himself. Protecting himself against the reality that he was single and lonely and that his best friend was comfortable in his sexuality and had a nice, caring boyfriend to flaunt. Not that Chris ever did that on purpose, either. He was good about making time for Connor and making time for James and never making Connor feel like the third wheel if their times happened to overlap.    
  
”Can we go home?” Connor asks into the silence that settles between the three of them. He doesn’t want to come off as rude, but he’s tired and lovesick and the alcohol hadn’t done anything to increase his mood, not that he’d ever suspected it would.    
  
Wordlessly, Chris steps off the curb to hail a taxi. He’s not hurt or upset that Connor doesn’t want to celebrate, he understands, and if anything he feels bad for trying to make him do something he hadn’t wanted to do. Surprisingly, it isn’t hard to find a vacant taxi and Chris herds the small group into the backseat.    
  
Connor forgets most of the conversation he and Kevin held and is alarmed to find an email in his inbox a couple days later that reads:    
  
**Sender** : Price, Kevin < elder.kevin.price2011@gmail.com >   
**Subject** : First Video   
This took an hour to upload, I hope it works for you. It’s a bit grainy. Happy Birthday! — KP.    
  
It’s early morning when the video comes in and rather than watch it from the comfort and the warmth of his own bed, he sets out to savor it over breakfast. Perching himself on one of the stools at the kitchen island and leaning his phone back against the cereal box for viewing.    
  
The screen is black when the video starts and after some fumbling, a good portion of Kevin’s face is visible. “Arnold.” He sighs, and the camera pans from his mouth up to the disapproving look he’s giving his best friend — the cameraman — and it’s obvious he isn’t aware that Arnold’s filming yet. “You don’t have to zoom in on me.”    
  
“The lighting is bad.” Arnold says, voice louder because he’s closer to the camera.    
  
“The lighting is fine.” Kevin replies, impatiently crossing his arms over his chest as he waits for the camera to start rolling. The camera dramatically zooms out and Connor would agree with Arnold, the lighting is subpar but it’s good enough.    
  
“Action.” Arnold prompts and it’s clear they aren’t on the same page and if Connor had to guess, they aren’t even reading the same book. It’s weird how vintage the footage feels. Kevin was right about the video quality and there’s a mechanical buzz every time there’s a lapse in conversation, but Connor absolutely loves it and he hopes there’s more to come.   
  
“Hi, Connor.” Kevin waves, unfolding his arms. “And Pop-Tarts and Church or whoever’s watching.”   
  
“Hi, guys!” Arnold supplies, briefly turning the camera towards him as he offers an enthusiastic wave.    
  
“I don’t know how well this is going to work,” Kevin explains, “but we’re going to try to film the stars because I know you’re missing them back home.”    
  
The camera follows Kevin as he grabs the industrial, red flashlight off the kitchen counter and together, they venture outside. Kevin uses the flashlight to illuminate himself as he talks and it works mostly, but he looks like he’s gearing up to tell a story around a campfire. “Is the camera picking anything up?” He asks as Arnold directs the camera to the night sky and zooms in again.    
  
“How’s that?” Arnold asks as if Connor could actively engage in answering. A little grainy, he would say, but good enough for him.    
  
“Ah, fuck.” Kevin mutters off camera and Connor doesn’t miss the insect bites as he listens to Kevin swat bugs off and away from him. Insects had always found Kevin the sweetest and there was many a day (or night) when one elder or another would aid in slapping bugs off of him, usually finding themselves facing a disgruntled Kevin who insisted they didn’t need to hit him as hard as they had.   
  
“It rained yesterday.” Arnold supplies to his companion as an explanation for the surplus in insects, still trying valiantly to film the stars.   
  
“I have to go back inside.” Kevin excuses himself.   
  
“Wait!” Arnold cries, the camera jostling as he runs after Kevin, “Don’t leave me out here alone!”    
  
The video cuts off, but Connor notices the email contains multiple file uploads. Seconds into the first video, he’s sure that Kevin had accidentally uploaded everything on the memory card as it appears to be Arnold chronicling their arrival in Uganda.    
  
“Here we are in Kitguli, Uganda.” Arnold narrates, following after a very tense Kevin Price. “What’dya think of Uganda, Elder?”   
  
Kevin turns of face Arnold, noticing the camera as he white knuckle grips his luggage. “I think it’s really different.” He announces through a forced smile.    
  
“Yeah!” Arnold agrees enthusiastically as he pans the landscape, “It’s different!”    
  
“What have we here?” A voice bellows and instinctively Connor flinches, almost dropping his spoon into his bowl. He knows these people have reformed, but he can’t help the fear he’d once possessed or the fact that he couldn’t have ever shown that he was afraid because he was meant to lead these boys. “German? British?”    
  
“Hello!” An innocent Kevin greets, eager to please and eager to preach.    
  
“American.” One of the guards scowls and Connor can’t watch anymore. He flips to the next video.    
  
Arnold fiddles with the monitor, before pushing his glasses back up his nose. Connor can’t guess what he’s trying to achieve because he’s still ridiculously close to the camera.    
  
“So,” Arnold whispers, “it takes about a day to fly to Uganda from Mission Control center and I thought this would be a really good time to get to know my mission companion, but he said he’s a nervous flyer and then he took something and now he’s passed out.”    
  
Arnold turns the camera toward a passed out Kevin, who’s got his head resting on his new companions shoulder. In trying to film Kevin, Arnold accidentally hits him with the monitor and Kevin rouses briefly, but Connor knows from his nights of sitting up with a sleepy Kevin that he isn’t consciously awake even despite the fact that he’s briefly opened his eyes and readjusted his head on Arnold’s shoulder.    
  
Connor’s chest aches, missing his friends and a tired, clingy Kevin who would talk with him about anything the more he gave into sleep. Dumb conversations about intellectual things.    
  
He thinks fondly on their discussion of the Fermi paradox as the video plays out, Kevin strewn across the couch with his head in Connor’s lap. The customary position for late night talks.    
  
“Do you think aliens exist?” Kevin had asked out of the blue, eyes closed in contemplation.    
  
“Oh, God.” Connor had groaned in response.    
  
“Think about it,” Kevin prompts, “if we were all supposed to get our own planets. Were we expected to live there alone? What was up with that?”    
  
“I think you misinterpreted something.” Connor replies, idle hands playing with Kevin’s growing hair. Tired and clingy, Kevin leans into his touch, offering a despondent laugh.    
  
“I misinterpreted a lot of things,” he hums, “but I just want to know if you think aliens exist.”   
  
“Yeah, sure, why not?” Connor shrugs, “Maybe they’re watching us from afar, waiting for us to screw everything up.”    
  
Kevin laughs again. “Too late.” He comments and Connor can tell by the hysteric lilt in his voice that he’s losing touch with reality and it’s only a matter of time before he’s gone. They play this game every night, waiting for the medicine to kick in and then Connor throws a blanket over Kevin and sneaks back to his room.    
  
“What do you think?” Connor asks, milking Kevin’s responses to the buzzer.    
  
“Maybe this is all a simulation.” Kevin fades, nuzzling his face against Connor’s thigh.    
  
“You’re so cryptic.” Connor mutters, prepared to take his leave after a good minute or so of silence.   
  
“Nyeh.” Kevin scolds, trying to coerce Connor into staying the second he dares to move, “I wasn’t done.”    
  
“You fell asleep.” Connor deadpans.    
  
“How rude of me.” Kevin responds sarcastically as he shifts to a more comfortable position.    
  
Connor wonders if the meds help distract Kevin from his pain, in turn erasing any prospect of hell dreams — or if Kevin’s grown to like the numb feeling they provide. He doesn’t know how to approach the issue without offending Kevin, so he leaves it alone, hoping Kevin would confide in him if anything were getting worse. Instead, he ventures, “So life is a simulation?”   
  
“It would make sense, wouldn’t it?” Kevin snuffles,  loosely rubbing at his face. “No one gets what they want in a simulation, it’s all based on what the player wants. You forget why you walk into rooms and people go completely rogue.”    
  
“What are you talking about?” Connor laughs, “You think aliens are controlling us?”   
  
“Sure.” Kevin replies, after a pause to deliberate if that’s what he’d meant.    
  
“Who’s going rogue?” Connor presses, before he loses this conversation.    
  
“Everyone.” Kevin replies, “And it all started with the Ugandan retelling of the Book of Mormon.”    
  
Connor rolls his eyes, pocketing this as another conversation where Kevin’s too far gone to make sense.    
  
“What’re you watching?” Chris startles Connor out of his train of thought as he pads into the kitchen.    
  
“Kevin sent me a video.” He replies, watching Chris drink straight from the carton of orange juice. “I hope you’re putting that on the grocery list.”    
  
Exaggeratedly, Chris swallows, reaching as Connor had requested, to add orange juice to the magnetized grocery list on the fridge. His handwriting is nearly indecipherable, but Connor will cross that bridge when he gets to it.    
  
“What’s it about?” He asks, “The video?”    
  
“The stars.” Connor responds, stretching his legs as he and Chris dance around one another in the small kitchen space so that he can wash his dirty dishes. When he’s done, he thrusts his phone into Chris’ hands so he can watch the video that Kevin had intended to send.    
  
“Connor.” Chris sighs when the videos played out and Connor knows what’s coming. It’s always the same question. “What happens when Kevin gets back to the States? Do you think you’ll keep in touch?”    
  
“We kept in touch.” Connor says in vehement denial that he and Kevin wouldn’t keep in touch, “You’re dating James.”    
  
“That’s hardly the same situation. James and Alex hardly talk now and they were companions.” Chris replies, “And what do we know about everyone else? Patrick Neely and Elijah Zelder?”    
  
“If you’re not making an effort to talk to them, that’s on you.” Connor snaps defensively, “I still talk to everyone.”    
  
“Connor.” Chris sighs and there it is again, the pitiful, sorry way his friend says his name when he thinks Connor is being irrational or out of touch with reality. “I’m not the bad guy, here. I just want you to really think about this, because you’re going to have to tell Kevin what you want sooner or later. He’s not a mind reader and I can see you hurting yourself over this, beating yourself up if he doesn’t answer the phone. I don’t want this to break you.”    
  
Deep down, Connor knows Chris is right and that he’s only trying to help but on the surface he wants everyone to feed into this dream he’s created for himself and it hurts when his best friend refutes it. “I think I’m gonna take a walk.” He decides, “I have an audition later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I wanted to thrust this into the world because doing so would encourage me to keep writing and updating, but my plans for this are very loose. I know what I want, but the roadmap to get there is filled with p(l)otholes. (That was a multi-level pun.) 
> 
> Please leave kudos and/or comments. If there’s something you want to see, I can make the magic happen. I’m incredibly open to suggestions because I have no idea what I’m doing.
> 
> Much love! And follow me on tumblr » @afterafternoons (If you don’t follow me there, you wouldn’t get cool updates like the fact that Kevin’s email in this fic is functional.)


	2. (Love Is Like A) Heat Wave

_“Whenever I’m with him,_

_something inside,_

_starts to burning,_

_and I’m filled with desire._

_Could it be a devil in me?_

_Or is this the way love’s supposed to be?”_

* * *

Connor equates the likeliness of audition rooms with interrogation rooms. Not that he’s ever been interrogated, but he is quite the crime show junkie.   
  
They’re barren rooms, with sparse furniture and you’re meant to bare your soul to a panel of people. Of course, auditions usually don’t end in arrest — or they aren’t meant to. (Connor’s still waiting for word on whoever pooped on the floor in the holding room at Pearl Studios during the Magic Mike auditions. He’s not quite sure what drives a person to do something like that and Connor’s had some bad auditions.)    
  
At present, Connor faces two middle aged women and an older man.    
  
“Connor.” One of the women interrupts his song, raising her pencil to silence him as she flips through her notes. “I’m sorry, hun. I think we’re going to take this character in another direction and it’s nothing against you personally, I’m just looking for someone taller. You understand, right?”    
  
Connor nods and despite feeling like he’s failed, he’s certainly not thinking of defecating in the holding room. “Thank you.” He smiles as a testament to his appreciation and heads for the door.    
  
Luckily, he’s got the apartment to himself when he gets back and he can wallow in his thoughts and feelings. It’s a good day in New York, but it’s a bad day for Connor and rather than bask in it’s glory, he draws the curtains and sets up the couch for a pity party. Complete with fluffy blankets and garbage snacks.    
  
He flits through Netflix, pouring over shows he’s half watched until he finds something good enough to keep him occupied and it’s not his fault that everything reminds him of Uganda if his mind is allocated the time to wander.    
  
He remembers a Christmas where District Nine had received a box of Christmas themed VHS tapes and Neely and Davis had figured out how to get the old TV working. It was antique and boxy, with relatively useless antennas duct taped to its sides and it had sat, neglected, in the corner of the Mission Hut, collecting dust. The knobs had to be turned with a pair of pliers and sometimes the buttons stuck, but nobody complained. Nobody had anticipated they’d be watching movies on Mission, but in all actuality their Mission was long gone; a dumpster fire they couldn’t restore.    
  
Movies like Frosty the Snowman and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer were passed over in favor of classics that didn’t force them to relive childhood memories and induce feelings of homesickness. Instead, they stopped to consider classics like It’s A Wonderful Life or White Christmas.    
  
“Love, Actually.” Someone reads from one of the VHS tapes in the bottom of the box.    
  
“Not a Christmas movie.” Connor is quick to assert as he sifts through the movies that had been laid out on the kitchen table, carelessly waving a VHS tape around as he talks. “Also highly inappropriate and scarring to my childhood.”    
  
“Well, in that case.” Michaels hums, reaching for the Love, Actually tape, “Now that we’re all sacrilegious and exonerated from our missionary duties.”    
  
“We’re not watching it.” Connor says, in such a way that makes the decision final. He doesn’t even bother to glance up from the back cover of the tape he’s glossing over and nobody cares enough to put up a fight as they make an effort to band together and agree on a movie.    
  
“The Nightmare Before Christmas.” Kevin grins, fishing the movie out of the bottom of the box. He looks hopeful to his peers, praying the Disney film won’t meet the same fate as Love, Actually.    
  
“Works for me.” Connor shrugs, catching Pop-Tarts eye across the table. The conversation goes unspoken, but regardless of the movie’s merit, Chris accuses Connor of siding with Kevin on account of his crush. Which, isn’t false, but Connor’s also giving in because it seems to be one of the first things to make Kevin truly smile in quite some time.    
  
Davis and Neely set to work on getting the movie started, the TV demanding of a two person team. Kevin takes to the lone couch in the Mission Hut, spreading his arms across the back.    
  
As Connor takes up a seat beside him, he spends more time than he should thinking about the size of the couch and how close he is to Kevin. Eventually, Pop-Tarts flanks Kevin’s other side, politely asking him to move his arm and Connor wonders if he should do the same, but he doesn’t really want Kevin to move at all.    
  
Packed tightly together in the Mission Hut, like sardines, it doesn’t take long for people to start dozing off. Eventually, the tape runs out leaving white static running on the television and the analog snow is the closest they’ll get to a traditional white Christmas back home.    
  
“Connor.” Chris nudges Connor awake, before moving to open the curtains he’d closed before accidentally falling asleep. “Bad audition?” He guesses.    
  
Connor blinks awake, checking the time on his phone as he stretches out of his memories. “Too short.” He replies, groggily. “Because height determines success, didn’t you know.”    
  
Chris sinks into the couch, pressing a takeout container into Connor’s hands. “Sorry.” He apologizes, unpacking his own takeout from the bag he’d carried it home in. “That you didn’t get the part and for getting on you about Kevin. I just worry about you.”    
  
“I know.” Connor sighs, dragging his plastic fork through the rice and beans that come as a side with the burrito Chris had bought him. It was a kind gesture, Chris bringing home food, and it touches Connor that they know each other well enough that they can get one another’s orders right. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”    
  
“About what?” Chris hums, biting into his food.    
  
“Kevin.” Connor answers, swiping a napkin off the coffee table and tossing it into Chris’ lap before he can spill his food on the couch. “I just keep thinking about him. What he did for my birthday last year and how he made us all watch The Nightmare Before Christmas — and all the dumb conversations we had, just the two of us. I miss that and I see him in everything.”   
  
“I know.” Chris nods, wiping at his face with the napkin Connor had tossed him. He settles back into the couch, balancing the container on his knees as he looks to his best friend.    
  
The phone rings and Connor’s quick to it. Not Kevin.    
  
“So what do we do?” Chris asks, as Connor turns the phone over in his hands. Just a reminder call for a doctors appointment that will go to voicemail anyway.    
  
Connor sighs, “Poop or get off the pot, right?”    
  
“I hate that expression.” Chris asserts, pointing his fork at his best friend an accusatory way. “Even more so after I found out that you’re obsessed with this whole Magic Mike fiasco.”    
  
Connor can’t help but crack a smile. “I just want to know who did it.”    
  
That night, he and Chris finalize a plan. He waits patiently for Kevin’s landing in New York a couple weeks later to finally confess his feelings, but upon arriving at the airport, his plan is brought to a grinding halt.   
  
“That was a long flight.” Arnold groans, dragging Kevin along by the elbow.    
  
They don’t look much different, Connor thinks, less grainy than on film but still wearing their missionary clothes. Kevin’s hair is tousled, but still pretty acceptable as far as missionary hygiene standards go and Arnold looks like he’s lost some weight.    
  
Beside Arnold, Kevin rubs tiredly at his eyes. “So,” he starts, “we have to stop by baggage claim before we do anything.”   
  
“Kevin.” Arnold sighs, still gripping Kevin’s elbow like he’s leading along a child. Connor can tell by his tone of voice that he’s had this conversation already. “We got our bags.”    
  
Kevin widens his eyes, blinking a time or two and shaking his head like he can shake off the disorientation that Connor recognizes as a side effect of the medication he takes for anxiety and insomnia. “Right.” Kevin nods, squeezing the handle of his suitcase to reaffirm its physical reality.    
  
“He’s fruity.” Arnold explains, shouldering off his backpack to fish around in search of something.   
  
“Uh,” Connor stammers, “in what way?”   
  
Arnold furrows his eyebrows at the question, slipping a piece of gum out of a side pocket. “Like a David after the dentist sort of way?” He elaborates, as if Connor had just quizzed him and he’s not entirely sure he has the right answer.   
  
“It’s just that,” Connor starts, thinks better of what he’s about to say, but continues anyway, “sometimes people use that word to derogatorily label gay people.”    
  
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that!” Arnold cries out, instantly worried he’s offended Connor but Connor’s quick to clean up the worry he’s inflicted, watching Kevin all the while. He wonders if there was any hope of the slip being a subconscious tell — can Kevin ever like him back?   
  
“Are we going back to your apartment?” The taller of the three asks as Connor weasels the rolling suitcase out of Kevin’s grip, trying not to spend a lot of time focusing on the first physical contact they’ve made in months.    
  
“We could go to James’.” Connor jokes, walking patiently beside Kevin. He tries not to think about how anticlimactic their reuniting is, throwing all the scenarios he’d run through in his head out the window because he hadn’t foreseen this reality.    
  
“As long as there’s a real bed for me to crash in, I’m game.” Kevin confesses his true intentions and Connor can’t help but laugh as he and Arnold lead him along.    
  
To Kevin’s relief, they take a cab back to Connor and Chris’ place and it’s only a matter of time before Kevin gets the chance to pass out in Connor’s bed and sleep off the meds and the jet lag.    
  
“How long did it take you to readjust to the time zone?” Arnold wonders as Connor tries to help him update he and Kevin’s cellphones now that they’re back in the States and can use them again.    
  
“A little less than a week?” Connor guesses, glancing up at Arnold from where he’s cradling Kevin’s phone while it updates. “Is— uhm, are you guys going back to Salt Lake?”   
  
“Kevin has a ticket to fly back.” Arnold explains, “Nabulungi and I are trying to figure out a fiancée visa.”    
  
Connor sputters trying to process all of the information, “What? Arnold, that’s great!”   
  
“Thanks!” Arnold grins, “I was just going to grab a hotel room while we sort out all of the paperwork. I know there’s a lot and that it takes a while, or maybe I’ll go back and visit? I don’t know yet.”   
  
Connor smiles, tapping in Kevin’s passcode as they chat, “Well, you can always have the pull out couch here or I’m sure James would rent out his spare bedroom to you.”   
  
A comfortable silence settles before Connor can’t help but inquire, “Do Kevin’s parents know?”   
  
“Know what?” Arnold asks innocently, pushing his glasses farther up his nose.   
  
“About everything that happened in Uganda?” Connor replies, vaguely as if to convince himself it doesn’t really matter.    
  
“Yeah.” Arnold sighs, “His parents aren’t happy about it. His dad’s really mad, actually, even though it’s kind of my fault that the mission president shut down our district. His mom wanted him home the second she found out what Elder Butt Effing Naked had done to him, so, I think there’s some hope.”   
  
Connor nods, taking the information in. It’s similar to alcohol, the way it burns to digest. Connor can’t help but think that ever the golden-child, despite all of the ways Kevin has fucked up, relatively none of his bridges were burned by the events that had unfolded overseas.    
  
This isn’t an entirely fair thought process, Connor knows this. Connor knows that Kevin is a victim and it’s no one’s fault that Connor’s family is less than lenient. It’s not entirely Arnold’s fault that the whole of District Nine had fallen from grace, held up by a shoddy leader who still — sometimes — struggles to accept himself for who he is.    
  
Connor hates ever having to admit it, but District Nine had only been a disaster waiting to happen. Kevin and Arnold the reactants needed to send the whole operation over the edge. A game of Jenga with one loose piece. It was bound to happen and the way Connor sees it, it wasn’t any one person’s fault.    
  
“So how long does that take?” Connor backtracks, picking at the peeling plastic on Kevin’s phone case. It’s flimsy and cheaply made and Connor congratulates Kevin for thinking to put a case on his phone, but it’s not really doing any wonders to protect it. “The visa, I mean.”   
  
“A couple months.” Arnold shrugs, “When she gets here we have 90 days to get married. I think I’m going to ask Kevin to be my best man.”    
  
Connor nods with a smile. He really is happy for Arnold and Naba and truth be told he can’t wait to see her again, but he keeps thinking about Kevin leaving and how long does he have to work up that courage again, now that his plan to confess at the airport had been thrown to the wayside.   
  
Chris and James bring back pizzas to the apartment and Kevin wakes in time to eat with everyone else as hugs are exchanged around the room. Chris tries to gauge whether or not Connor has followed through with their plan, but Connor just keeps shaking his head every time his best friend sidles up to him and trying his best to deflect by asking someone else a question.   
  
“So what’s all changed in the past two years?” Kevin inquires, leaning back from where he and Chris have been fiddling with the Keurig for a good couple minutes. It had never been used to make coffee before, but Connor had picked up some earlier that week in anticipation for Kevin. Keurig’s weren’t new appliances by any means, but for some reason their had stopped cold turkey and apparently it required two-men to get it up and running again.    
  
“Well,” Chris says, glancing back at Connor with a shit-eating grin, “recently Connor’s become obsessed with the idea of a human person pooping in a broadway holding room.”    
  
“The idea of it?” Kevin raises his eyebrows, as Connor tries to will lasers to protrude from his eyes and through Chris’s face.    
  
“No, it actually happened.” He explains, looking to Kevin as he starts to pull paper plates apart for their dinner. “At a Magic Mike: The Musical audition. They have no idea who did it, but now their auditions are being held online.”   
  
“Understandably.” Kevin nods, as Chris grunts beside him and wordlessly suggests he try fiddling with the Keurig.    
  
“I was going to ease you into recent events with something a little more hopeful for humanity.” Connor informs him, glaring at Chris now that Kevin’s back is turned. Chris shrugs in response, clearly unaffected.    
  
“Is there hope for humanity?” Kevin laments, the Keurig offering an alarmed beep in agreement. “I mean with the current president and all.”   
  
“I’d peg you for a conservative.” Connor comments, James snickering under his breath at the suggestive interpretation that Connor hadn’t intended. He earns a swift jab to the side, unbeknownst to Kevin who shrugs without turning around.    
  
“My politics certainly do not align with his.” Kevin assures Connor.    
  
“Well,” Connor grins, opening one of the drawers in search of a spatula to serve the pizzas, “there is a gay man exploring a democratic presidential campaign.”    
  
Connor’s still coming to terms with his sexuality, but to see other’s — especially prospective leaders — be so open and brazen in their own personal relationships is incredibly inspiring.    
  
“That’s another thing he can’t stop talking about.” Chris comments, as they both decidedly give up on the Keurig.    
  
“I think it’s a good thing.” Kevin shrugs, catching Connor’s eye across the kitchen island with a look that let’s Connor know he has his back, just like he had in Uganda. Exchanging glances and unspoken words whenever the other needed backing up or covering with a little white lie. Things like, “I think he’s right.” or “Kevin isn’t feeling well.”   
  
Connor’s quick to duck his head in response, stealing a smile to himself. He’s honored that things haven’t changed too much in the past couple months, but he’s trying to keep his feelings at bay. Swallowing them for a more opportune time to present itself.    
  
“I was beginning to think pizza was something I’d dreamt up.” Arnold jokes, shifting the conversation as they dig into the food.    
  
Chris surrenders his bed to Arnold for the night, deciding to room with James back at his apartment. Connor thinks it’s only a matter of time before the two officially move in together, but he’s never voiced this out loud and he doesn’t protest the idea all that much. He’s just happy to see Chris happy.    
  
“Can’t sleep?” Connor finds himself asking when Kevin joins him out on the couch in the living room after Chris and James have left and Arnold’s gone to bed. It’s not terribly late, but Connor knows how exhausting travel can be. Kevin sinks into Connor’s hastily made bed, pulling one of the couch cushions to his chest. It’s dark and Connor can vaguely make him out in the lights that peak through the curtains.   
  
“It’s louder here.” He confesses, playing with the zipper on the side of the pillow. He shakes his head, laughing silently to himself, “It’s weird. I thought I’d never get used to living in Uganda.”   
  
“Is the shower too complicated for you?” Connor teases, nudging Kevin lightly in jest.    
  
Kevin laughs. “No, it’s the Keurig.”   
  
Connor snorts in response, silence settling over them and even though the scenery has changed and three months have passed, this doesn’t feel any different than their talks in Uganda. He figures Kevin’s trying to compensate for his nap earlier, or maybe he truly can’t get back to sleep, but either way Connor doesn’t mind the company.    
  
“Kevin?” Connor ventures after a while.    
  
“Hmm?” Kevin hums in response.    
  
“Nothing.” Connor decides, “Just seeing if you’re still awake.”    
  
He can feel Kevin shrug beside him. Awake, but just barely and really nothing’s changed. “Why don’t you lay down?” Connor suggests, rolling his eyes and scooting over to make more room for Kevin’s long limbs. Just as he’s happy to see Chris happy, he’s fine and content to have Kevin back.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos & comments appreciated! 
> 
> Much love!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr @afterafternoons. <3


	3. The Boy Next Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! An update!

_“How can I ignore,_

_The boy next door?_

_I love him more than I can say,_

_Doesn’t try to please me,_

_Doesn’t even tease me,_

_And he never even sees me glance his way.”_

* * *

 

It took Connor a while to realize that the biggest differences in his life weren’t the differences between his time in Uganda and the States — but rather the way he’d lived the first 19 years of his life in the States and the changes he’s made after his two years abroad.

He still wakes up as early as he had in Uganda, typically before day break and well before the rest of the apartment, but he has different priorities now. For instance, fixing the Keurig now that he’s got Kevin’s caffeine addiction to worry about — and in particular, not condemning the fact that, yeah, he does have a crush on Kevin Price.

Prior to Uganda, any sort of crush on a person of the same sex was a dark stain on Connor’s soul that he’d spend a considerable amount of time trying to scrub clean. Typically to little or no avail.

But things are different now. He’s not being force-fed the ideas of a religion that, when he really thinks about it, hardly makes sense. And Arnold has outlined a set of morals that easily accept him for who he is. (Though the Book of Arnold is something that, for the most part, had physically stayed behind in Uganda.) Now, he’s got friends, like Chris and James, who model healthy relationships and who really understand and support him, unconditionally.

Accepting these things as fact, Connor gets to work on the Keurig early that next morning. Working silently in the morning light that cascades through the open shades, casting window paned shadows across Kevin’s sleeping figure on the couch and into the open kitchen just behind him.

Had Connor known, the night before, that Kevin was looking for companionship, he would have suggested they sleep in his bed rather than the flimsy fold out sofa with its paper thin mattress and prodding springs. Or maybe he wouldn’t have, in fear of coming across as clingy. He’s envious of Kevin who, with Connor, is more uninhibited and unafraid to ask for comfort or closeness if he so needs it. Granted, Kevin has his own struggles, but Connor doesn’t feel he has the same luxury — to blatantly ask for what he really wants and to receive it in return — because his crush is unrequited and definitely just a tad ridiculous.

With the Keurig completely disassembled across the kitchen island, Connor sets to work trying to put it back together the way it had come apart, hoping to yield different results when he turns it back on and trying to distract himself from his feelings. Across the counter, his phone dings with a message from Chris and hands full, he tries to read it without losing track of where he is in the process of putting the machine back together again.

“The Mormon Church Will Now Allow Same-Sex Couples To Baptize Their Children.” Reads the headline Chris sent him. Then, underneath in unbolded type, “The church said it will also no longer call same-sex couples ‘apostates.’”

“Have you seen this?” Comes the next message, ringing out through the silent apartment and Connor scrambles to turn the sound off. Realistically, he’s making more noise banging around plastic pieces for the Keurig in a hurried attempt to shut off his phone than his phone ever had; but with the news he’s just been given everything feels deafening and he isn’t sure how to respond. Something catches in Connor’s throat and decidedly he turns away from the phone to busy himself with the Keurig again, on the verge of getting it working.

He finds himself reading the article over and over again when he’s finished. Typing in keywords to his Google search like, “LGBT Mormon” and “LDS same-sex policies.”

Every article reads nearly the same and it puts a bad taste in his mouth. On the outside it looks like the church is trying to be more lenient, but Connor sees through the publicity stunt. They claim to want to reduce hate and contention, but in the same breath they expect their LGBT member’s to remain chaste and oddly enough, for all the time he’s spent struggling to accept himself, Connor feels he’s never seen the truth of the Church clearer than he is now.

Acceptance, he truly believes, even on the smallest scale, is just an attempt to bait new members. He doesn’t know how to respond to Chris’ text, so he leaves it on read.

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter that Chris’ text went unanswered because a handful of minutes later he comes banging through the apartment door with his boyfriend in tow. “We brought breakfast!” He announces, quickly shut up by a frantic Connor who practically trips over himself to silence his best friend. “Oh?” Chris whispers in understanding and intrigue, noticing Kevin sprawled out on the couch.

Connor’s not an expert mind reader, but he knows exactly what Chris is thinking by the way he looks back and forth between he and Kevin and just as frantically as he’d shut Chris up, he finds himself shaking his head. “Nothing happened.” He hisses, backing Chris into his boyfriend and Chris throws up his hands in surrender, James unable to do so with shopping bags weighing down each hand.

“We brought breakfast.” James whispers, repeating Chris’ earlier sentiment, raising a large takeout bag as proof. And in the other hand, “And I brought some of my old clothes for Kevin, so he can change out of the Missionary garb.”

Connor hadn’t really thought about the fact that Kevin and Arnold didn’t have anything else to wear. Kevin dressed in his missionary uniform wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen and truth be told . . . he doesn’t actually know what Kevin’s style is.

“Why’re you even up this early?” Connor asks, stepping back to let them further inside. If there’s anything he’s sure of, Chris is not a morning person.

“I took him to breakfast.” James says, heaving the bags onto the kitchen counter, Chris in tow. “Oh, did you fix the Keurig?”

Connor glances at it, like the little machine might betray him. “Not sure, actually.”

“Guess we’ll find out.” Chris shrugs, slamming a K-Cup into it and jabbing at buttons until Connor’s hard work proves fruitful and it begins to churn out a cup of coffee without a fuss — and seeing the way Chris had handled the machine suddenly makes it’s not-working make sense. “Color me impressed, McKinley. You did it.”

“O ye, of little faith.” Connor mocks, using Chris’ favorite turn of phrase on him in retaliation to which Chris congratulates with a slow clap and a look that says, ’So you think you really did something with that one, huh?’

Down the hall, Chris’ door opens to reveal Arnold who always woke ready to start the day, if Connor recalled correctly. He was perhaps the only elder who didn’t bitch and moan about anything.

Chris raps his fingers against the counter, blowing air out as his patience begins to wear thin. “Guess that leaves Kevin.” He comments and before Connor can stop him, he’s made the executive decision to launch himself onto the couch beside Kevin, the springs creaking under the sudden shift in weight.

“Christopher.” James sighs, unable to control his boyfriend and offering an apologetic look to Connor.

“Morning.” Chris groans as Kevin startles awake, looking to the group as if to survey the amount of danger he’s potentially facing. Beside him Chris groans again, “I think I broke my back.”

“What time is it?” Kevin asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the palms of his hands. He’s a little stiff sitting up, from the uncomfortableness of the makeshift bed and Chris makes a show of whining until his boyfriend pays him any attention, playing along until he’s pulled Chris to his feet and it’s glaringly obvious that his back is in fact: not broken.

“Seven-ish.” Arnold relates, checking his watch and Kevin groans in response, not one to wake up this early on his own accord.

“We brought breakfast.” James offers softly, more conscious of the fact that not everyone’s a morning person, especially considering the present company of his night-owl boyfriend who’s currently leaning into his side as James rubs his thumb into his back to soothe it after his unfortunate cannonball onto the couch.

Kevin musters up enough strength to drag himself over to the stools at the kitchen island as Connor unloads the takeout James and Chris had brought about and it goes without saying he needs a couple minutes silence to get going. “Sorry.” Connor apologizes for his friend, pushing a cup of coffee Kevin’s way.

“Thanks.” Kevin smiles and maybe at one point in time he was a morning person, especially with his dedication to the church, but ever since his run-in with General Butt Effing Naked he’s prone to insomnia riddled nights and sleeping in the most he possibly can.

“Kevin.” James says, again quiet and conscious, smoothing his hands over the second bag he’d brought along. “I brought some clothes along, if you see anything you like.”

Chris peeks into the bag, thumbing through the shirts. “He’s not allowed to wear that anymore.” He comments, even though no one else can see what he’s talking about and James swats his hand away. Chris glares at him in response, “How’s it feel to be supporting the wrong team of Superheroes. I’ll work you into a Captain America man yet.”

“Well, there’s a Superman shirt in there.” James says ignoring Chris and pushing the bag forward towards Kevin, “That I’m not allowed to wear anymore, apparently. Just take what you want and donate the rest.”

“He has too many clothes anyway.” Chris chimes in without necessity.

Determined to commandeer his day back now that his best friend and his boyfriend have crashed it with their generosity, Connor speaks up. “I was thinking maybe we could go on a tour of New York today, if you’re up for it? Or, like, to Target for some clothes?”

“We didn’t exchange our currency yesterday.” Arnold speaks up, pushing his glasses farther up his nose as her jerks a thumb at Kevin. “He was too out of it.”

And debating as he eats his breakfast, Kevin finds himself nodding. “Yesterday is hazy.”

“I’ll pay.” Connor decides, “No biggie. You can just get me back later and then we can tour New York.”

“Are we gonna see the infamous Magic Mike pooper?” Kevin teases, catching a glare from Connor.

James offers to clean up breakfast as the rest of them get ready, no strangers to sharing bathroom space amongst the lot of them.

“I brought some of your stuff back.” Kevin says, stepping back from where he’s finally getting an opportunity to blow dry his hair as Connor spits into the sink. He’d put together a nice outfit of the things James had left him. “Your nice pens and pencils and the doodles everyone left pinned to your board and I think I grabbed some of the books Chris couldn’t fit in his bag and — oh yeah, your lucky tie. Why’d you leave that?”

Patting his face dry, Connor shrugs, “I thought maybe you could use it.”

Kevin’s reflection smiles at him in the mirror. That same genuine smile he’s been missing for the past two months. “Thanks.” He says switching off the blow dryer, his unkempt hair finally styled after the Ugandan sun had lightened it up a little.

* * *

“Please don’t leave me with Chris.” Kevin finds himself whispering as he sidles up behind Connor in the Men’s section at Target. “He’s a shopper. I’m not. I was a hand me down kid.” 

Connor laughs, rifling through the racks as he watches Chris turn his attention towards Arnold who’s perfectly fine sorting through the graphic tees on his own. “What’re you looking for?”

“Something that isn’t a white button down and a pair of black dress slacks.” Kevin outlines and jokingly Connor tsks at him.

“You’re hard to shop for.” He chastises in jest, pulling a couple patterned and cuff sleeved button downs off the rack and pushing Kevin off towards the fitting rooms.

“These pants are too tight!” Kevin calls from behind the door, Connor finding himself next to James and Chris as Arnold and Kevin try on clothes.

“That’s just how they make them now.” Chris replies flatly without looking up from his phone. “Well, are you gonna show us or not?”

“Not.” Kevin decides. Then, a pleading, “Connor?”

“Yeah, I’ll go find different pants.” Connor complies, pushing himself off the bench to stand and Chris is quick to tail after him. Frankly, Connor prides himself in the fact that Kevin trusts him to be his personal shopper.

“We never talked about that article.” Chris corners him as Connor tries to pick something tasteful in a longer size. “What do you think? Do you think next they’ll be like, ‘Well I guess you can have sex.’”

“Does it matter?” Connor sighs, pulling a pair of jeans out from under a pile and Chris reaches to refold a pair he’d accidentally dropped. “Would you go back?”

Chris doesn’t know what to say, opening and closing his mouth as they trek back to the fitting rooms where Arnold’s modeling yet another Star Wars graphic tee. “No?” Then, firmer, “No.”

Arnold looks on confused, glancing down at his shirt. “You don’t like the shirt?”

“No, it looks good.” Chris backtracks, waving a hand as if to clear the air.

“It has to be one or the other.” Arnold replies, again mistaking Chris’ words, “You either like it or you don’t.”

Kevin juts a hand out from behind his door, beckoning the new jeans Connor had picked and Chris turns to truly evaluate Arnold’s outfit choice. “It looks good, Arnold. I like it a lot, it’s very you.”

“Look,” Connor begins, continuing their earlier conversation and assuming his seat on the bench next to James, “I have no interest in going back to the church no matter how inclusive they try to make it because it was a bad experience for me. For most of my life, I lived in fear and then I got disowned and I really don’t think if the church continued to change it’s policies that it would make my family change their minds and if anything, this will only make them want to turn my future children against me and convince them that there’s a better life to be lead with Christ.

“What happened?” Kevin asks, stepping out of his fitting room as he tucks his shirt into the pants Connor had selected for him. He does a small twirl, hands extended to receive opinions from the group and he doesn’t seem to notice Connor’s eyes trained on him.

Chris pulls up the article, handing his phone off to Kevin as Connor looks over the outfit. “I like it.” He decides, praising his choices as Kevin skims the article.

“The Lion King shirt was a good touch.” Chris compliments taking his phone back, “Very Kevin Price.”

James snickers on the bench. “Africa is nothing like the Lion King, I think that movie took a lot of artistic license.” He mocks one of Kevin’s earliest sentiments in Uganda and Connor finds it breaks the tension of his comments about the Church. He’s almost glad they’ve gone unaddressed.

Looking back now, Kevin can laugh at himself. He and Arnold had found themselves in a very unfunny situation, but yeah, admittedly he had overreacted just a smidge — or maybe by a longshot, but he knows that now and he doesn’t mind the playful teasing. He’s come a long way from the irritable and easily offended Kevin he’d once been and once Kevin’s laughing at himself, they all laugh with him. “You got me there.” He surrenders, retreating to try on the next outfit.

Eventually, they leave having made a sizable dent in Connor’s wallet, but it’s not like he’s exactly a starving actor. He makes money doing odd jobs and he’s pretty good about saving his money unlike his roommate.

“I’ll pay you back.” Kevin promises, trying to get Connor to let him carry his own bags.

“You don’t have to do that.” Connor protests, holding tight to the bags he’s already grabbed. He doesn't mind helping Kevin. Whether it be fixing the Keurig for an early cup of coffee or a new wardrobe, “I got it.”

Uncertainly, Kevin drops it, concocting other ways he can get Connor back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In trying to drag out Connor's pining, Chris kinda stole the spotlight a couple times this chapter but I really wanted to highlight Connor's silent acts of kindness towards Kevin.
> 
> In the next chapter I hope to kinda push them together a bit more and thank you for bearing with me through this process. I really started this with no real idea of what I wanted to do and I still don't really know where I'm going. 
> 
> Anyways! Kudos and comments appreciated! Thanks, guys!
> 
> Tumblr & Twitter: afterafternoons. (I'm thinking of starting a prompt fill series so message me headcanons or whatnot either of those places and I’ll post when I update there!)


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